


Attack Off Target

by ThebanSacredBand



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Fencing, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-01-05 11:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/pseuds/ThebanSacredBand
Summary: “Of course its fine if people have other things to do, but I would have thought that at least the more experienced fencers would be here to help out. And most of us are. Even Bossuet’s here, and he’s injured.” He finished applying the tape to mark out the piste and stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers. “But you know who hasn’t shown up?”“Oh Courfeyrac,” said Combeferre under his breath, suddenly materialising beside his boyfriend. “Why on earth did you get him started?”“Grantaire. I would have thought that someone so good at fencing might actually take a home competition seriously, but apparently not."A AU in which Les Amis are part of a university fencing club, and in which Enjolras is unaware he has a crush, and Courfeyrac is very, very aware that Enjolras has a crush.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire is a fencer in the brick, and now all Les Amis are too. I don't think I've used too much fancy fencing terminology, but feel free to hit me up if you need any clarification.

“Enj, are you alright?” Courfeyrac called over from plugging in the box to where Enjolras was applying tape to the floor with a look of severe concentration. To anyone else, the look might have been seen as nothing but that, but Courfeyrac knew Enjolras better than most. His best friend was stressed. Very stressed.

At Courfeyrac's question, Enjolras briefly looked up, before tearing off another piece of tape with a surprising level of ferociousness.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? We’ve only got a tournament here tomorrow that we need to prepare for and _some people_ haven’t _deigned_ to show up because they obviously don’t _care_ enough about fencing to be helpful.”  Courfeyrac winced. He knew that Enjolras was very invested in making sure the tournament ran smoothly, being the fencing club’s captain, but he’d managed to somehow forget _quite_ how intensely he felt about this kind of thing.

“I’m sure they have reasons, Enj. Maybe other commitments, or maybe deadlines? Uni isn’t just about fencing, after all.” He gave his best friend a half smile, not wanting him to think that he was accusing Enjolras of taking things too seriously. The only person who would dare do that was…

Courfeyrac looked around. The only person who would dare do that was decidedly _not_ currently helping set up for the university’s annual open fencing tournament. He suddenly realised why Enjolras in such a state. He suddenly very much regretted asking if his friend was alright.

“Of course its fine if people have other things to do, but I would have thought that at least the more experienced fencers would be here to help out. And most of us are. Even Bossuet’s here, and he’s injured.” He finished applying the tape to mark out the piste and stood up, dusting his hands on his trousers. “But you know who hasn’t shown up?”

“Oh Courfey _rac_ ,” said Combeferre under his breath, suddenly materialising beside his boyfriend. “Why on earth did you get him started?” Enjolras didn't hear him.

“Grantaire. You know, I would have thought that someone so _good_ at fencing might _actually_ take a home competition seriously, but no, why would he…”

Courfeyrac had already stopped listening. He had heard this rant far too many times to bother listening to it again. Instead he turned to Combeferre with a grimace. His boyfriend was still standing next to him, and was now raising one eyebrow in a way that conveyed exactly what he thought about the fact that Courfeyrac had started Enjolras off on another of his ‘Grantaire is so good at fencing and I hate the fact that he doesn’t seem to put as much effort in as I do' rants. Courfeyrac stuck out his lower lip.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t _know_ that he was in such a mood was because of you-know-who, I was worried something actually bad might have happened.” He pouted at Combeferre for a few seconds longer, until his boyfriend rolled his eyes and smiled at him. They stayed there, staring at each other, smiling.

“– _and_ his reflexes are amazing, if he just practised his technique a little more he could really –”

Courfeyrac buried his face into Combeferre’s shoulder. “Oh my _god_ he’s still _going_.”

Combeferre snorted. “Well, whose fault is that, hmmm?” Courfeyrac only whined. Combeferre patted his fluffy hair. "Don’t worry, sweetheart, this is hardly the longest he’s talked about R for.”

“– he’s got such strong leg muscles that he’s just so fast, if only he…” Enjolras trailed off when he looked up to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac wrapped around each-other. “You guys aren’t even listening!”

“Oh, of course we were listening, Enj, please tell us more about your crush’s amazing legs.” Said Combeferre, his deadpan expression undercut by Courfeyrac’s feeble attempt to supress his giggles.

“I don’t have a _crush_ on Grantaire! I can admire his athleticism and talent at fencing without it being a crush!” Enjolras looked almost offended.

“I mean, you were the only one who noticed that R isn’t here.” Courfeyrac piped in, trying to school his features into something not bordering on full-blown laughter. Enjolras was frowning again, but it was his ‘thinking about Grantaire’ frown not his ‘something terribly unjust is happening’ frown, (they were very different frowns, and Courfeyrac had seen ample evidence of each of them), and that expression was decidedly _not_ helping Courfeyrac not laugh.

“It’s got nothing to do with attraction! Of course I would notice if he wasn’t here! We fence the same weapon! He’s been my biggest rival since I was 12!” Enjolras was getting more and more agitated, just as he did every time he told this story. Enjolras had first told Combeferre and Courfeyrac this story the night after they’d met, at the same fencing practise where Enjolras had realised he’d somehow ended up at the same university as Grantaire. He’d lost to the older boy in the first round of eliminations at a tournament, and fixated on him ever since – fixated on _defeating_ him, Enjolras had stressed.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had immediately teased Enjolras about his ‘childhood crush’, which he had strongly denied. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Enjolras had taken the teasing as entirely in jest, and so for the past two and a half years of university they had continued to tease him, getting more and more frustrated at the fact that Enjolras seemed to be the only one _not_ to realise he had a crush on his so-called rival. And honestly, who even has a rival at the age of 12?

“Keep telling yourself that’s the reason you notice, Enj. All I’m saying is that I’m much more likely to notice if Ferre is here or not than whether, like, Feuilly is here, for example.”

Enjolras pouted a little. “I certainly _don’t_ have a crush on Grantaire, and I certainly _will_ be giving him a piece of my mind when he finally shows up on Sunday to compete.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac glanced at each-other. A “piece of Enjolras’ mind” could be anything from a firm rebuke to a full-blown shouting match. This was, well, this was certainly going to be interesting. And Courfeyrac had a sinking feeling that he might be left picking up the pieces.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just a heads up, but apparently our lord and saviour Enjolras is pissed at you.”
> 
> In which Eponine has to deal with two dumb boys

“Just a heads up, but apparently Enjolras is pissed at you.” Eponine told Grantaire after reading the message that had just pinged up on her phone. It was stupidly early on Saturday morning and the pair were making their way over to the competition, Gavroche running ahead of them.

“He’s always pissed at me ‘Ponine.” Grantaire shrugged, his heavy bag bumping against his side with the movement. “What have I done this time?”

“Well Courf told Marius, who told ‘Sette,” Grantaire rolled his eyes dramatically, and Eponine gave him an evil smirk, “who told _me_ , that it’s because you weren’t there to help set up last night.” Grantaire pulled a face.

“Oh fuck that! You weren’t there either, what’s he pissed at me for? Oh wait, never mind, there’s your answer, it’s because it’s me.”

“He probably didn’t notice I wasn’t there because I’m not the one he’s completely obsessed with.” Eponine said, sticking her tongue out at her best friend.

“Yeah, obsessed with getting me kicked out of the club.” Grantaire said, clearly fully believing what he was saying. Eponine rolled her eyes. Everyone knew that Enjolras had a crush on Grantaire, except the man himself. The opposite was also true. The pair of them were absolutely hopeless.

They reached the sports hall, Eponine going to sign herself and her brother in for their respective competitions – womens and mixed under 13s sabre, respectively – leaving Grantaire and Gavroche in the foyer to wait.

When she got back, she found that during her absence, none other than Enjolras himself had shown up, and was in the middle of berating Grantaire.

Eponine rolled her eyes, not wanting to approach. She had heard enough bickering from the pair to last a lifetime. But then she looked closer. Enjolras was hissing at Grantaire, gesturing wildly with his arms. And Grantaire was just standing there. Normally Grantaire would be equally as vicious, giving as good as he got. But today he was silent.

Well, Eponine thought, today Grantaire had other responsibilities. He would be fencing Enjolras in the men’s sabre tomorrow. But today? Well…

“Coach R!” cried a voice from the doorway. Grantaire immediately ripped his attention from Enjolras to face the girl who had just entered, a grin easily spreading across his face.

“Hey Amélie!” R crouched down to greet her. “How are you feeling about the competition, are you excited?”

The girl started to excitedly chatter, and they were soon joined by various other children and their parents as they started to arrive.

Eponine stood and watched Enjolras, where he was still stood off to the side, a look a blank shock on his face. She snickered to herself, before eventually taking pity on him and sidling up.

“What’s up, Enjolras, didn’t you know R coaches at the kid’s club on Friday nights?” Enjolras span to face her, the shock on his face shifting into something closer to alarm. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, several times, before finally finding his voice.

“No. I… er… I didn’t know that. I had no idea.” Eponine had never seen Enjolras so lost for words. It would be funny, if he hadn’t been haranguing Grantaire for not showing up to help set up when he had something so, so much more important to do.

“’Scuse me, Monsieur?” The first girl, the one Grantaire had greeted as Amélie, was pulling gently at Enjolras’ trousers. “Are you monsieur ‘Jolras? ‘Cos Coach R says that you’re the best sabre-er he knows and that you’re really good and he brings us videos of you to show us what good sabre looks like.”

Enjolras stared down at the girl, frozen. Grantaire swung his head round to stare, full of alarm out how Enjolras might react to this knowledge. Eponine shook her head. Hopefully these boys would sort this whatever it is between them out, and soon, before everyone else in the club spontaneously combusted.

“Alright, R, kids,” Eponine says, loud enough to get everyone’s attention, “You should probably all go get changed so you can start warming up soon.”

Grantaire snaps out of his anxious staring quicker than Enjolras does. “You’re right, Eponine. Come on, noble warriors. To the changing rooms!” He dramatically swings a hand and leads the children (and their supervising parents) out of the foyer.

Soon only Eponine and Enjolras are left. Enjolras was staring somewhere into the middle distance, as though his brain was still trying to compute what he had just learnt. Eponine poked him. He jumped.

“Maybe next time you should actually think about what Grantaire does in his not-at-uni-fencing time, rather than immediately jump to conclusions that he’s lazy, or something else ridiculously unlikely.” She said, unable to keep her anger from entering her voice. However much Grantaire might care about Enjolras, he doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he is, and if Eponine has to be the one to try and put _some_ sense into Enjolras, then so be it.

Enjolras just stared at her, still somewhat shocked. Eponine rolled her eyes and stalked off towards the gym. After all, she had her own competition to prepare for.

 

Later, as she was waiting for her first match to start, Eponine caught Enjolras staring over at where Grantaire, in his coaching kit, was running the kids through drills, stopping by each one to talk to them and slightly correct their posture and blade positioning.

She was obviously too far away to see exactly hear what he was saying, but she had supervised Gavroche at training enough times to know he was nothing but supportive and encouraging of his young charges.

Enjolras, on the other hand, looked as though he was close enough to hear Grantaire, and whatever he was hearing had made him look like the embodiment of the heart-eyes emoji. Eponine wasn’t sure whether this was a good or a bad thing. But hopefully, _hopefully_ , this meant that the pair of them would finally stop pining and bickering, and finally give their friend group a moment of peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of competing is over. The group convenes for pizza.

Saturday evening arrived, finding the group of the fencers all convened at Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta’s house. It was their main place to hang out after fencing, being the largest one that was actually close to the gym. Almost everyone had arrived so far, except Enjolras, who was probably still doing something or other to do with the competition, and Grantaire and Eponine, who were taking Eponine’s little brother over to a friend’s place for a sleepover before coming over.

Bossuet was in the kitchen with Feuilly and Jehan, trying to sort out drinks for everyone – alcohol for those who had already competed, various non-alcoholic options for people who couldn’t afford to have a hangover in the morning. He was struggling with the drinks, though, because his wrist was in a cast. It was just his luck that he had fallen and broken it just a week before he was due to compete. He was still helping out at the competition, of course. It’s not like he had anywhere else he’d want to be, with Joly being on hand as first aid and Musichetta and the rest of his friends competing. Instead of competing himself he had been entrusted with taking photos of the event, which the group were flipping through.

“Hey, Bossuet?” came Bahorel’s voice from the living room.

“Yeah?” Bossuet replied, making his way out of the kitchen. He had helped with the pouring and stuff, but he would leave the carrying for his friends with two fully-functioning arms.

“I was just wondering why half the photos are of Enjolras staring into the distance like he’s about to start crying?” Bahorel asked, dramatically holding up the camera like it was the Holy Grail.

Bossuet snorted, flopping down on the sofa beside him. He was _supposed_ to have been taking photos of fencers in action. Which he did, of course. But there was nothing to stop him from also taking a series of photos of Enjolras moping, which was quite possibly the funniest expression he had ever seen. “Look, man, don’t judge me, how could I fail to capture such a beautiful pout.”

“Pouting! Woah! Let me see!” Courfeyrac almost fell over in his attempt to snatch the camera from Bahorel’s grasp. He screeched when he started flicking through the pictures. “What _happened_? How did I _miss_ this?”

“You missed it because you were too busy staring at Combeferre’s butt,” said Marius, turning a brilliant shade of crimson almost immediately after the words left his mouth. Bossuet, along with probably half the others in the room, burst out laughing. Courfeyrac clasped a hand over his heart, turning to face the tomato formally known as Pontmercy.

“How could you _suggest_ such a thing? The betrayal! I’ll have you know I was _helping_.”

“And you were very good at it,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac looked back at him with a wide smile, and clambered back over to where his boyfriend was sitting, folding himself on his lap. Just watching them made Bossuet get up and sit on the floor in front of Joly and Musichetta, who both hugged him.

He waved over at Courfeyrac, who waved back, before suddenly looking suddenly at the camera in his hand, as if he had forgotten it was there. He handed it to Combeferre, who started flicking through the pictures

Combeferre smirked a little as he looked at the photos, but his expression quickly melted into a frown. “Does anyone actually know why Enjolras looked like that?”

“Oh!” Cosette piped up. “Eponine texted me something about him shouting at Grantaire again?”

There was a general clamour around the room, asking Cosette for the details. She started to tell them something about Grantaire coaching at a local youth club, but they were interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Bossuet stood up to open it after losing at rock-paper-scissors against Musichetta. To be fair, if he had wanted to win, he probably should have used his arm that wasn’t in a cast.

Behind the door stood Enjolras, looking as miserable as he had throughout the day. It had started raining in the time between the rest of them arriving at the house and Enjolras leaving the sports hall, and his hair was plastered to his face, only adding to the general sense of forlorn-ness. He also seemed to have neglected to pack any form of waterproof coat or umbrella, and was shivering through his coat.

“Oh shit, Enj, get inside, you’re freezing!” Bossuet said, probably louder than was necessary, but he wanted to make sure everyone wasn’t still gossiping about him in the other room. He stepped to the side, and Enjolras walked in, giving him a grateful smile. He went straight into the main room, where Bossuet could hear everyone calling out to greet him.

Bossuet made to close the door behind him, when a voice called out from the street. “Oi, Boss, hold the door!”

Running down the street, hoods pulled up over their heads, clutching pizza boxes to their chests, were Grantaire and Eponine. Bossuet flung the door back open and his friends burst in, face red from the rain. They were laughing a little from the exertion.

“Right, that’s me warmed up for tomorrow then!” said Grantaire, his breath puffing out of him. He handed his stack of pizza boxes to Bossuet and shrugged out of his raincoat. “It’s really chucking it down out there, though. Good job I had a coat otherwise I’d be soa-”

His voice cut off as he walked through to the living room. Bossuet looked over at Eponine, who shrugged, and they both poked their heads round the door. Grantaire’s mouth was still hanging open, though no sound was coming out of it. He was staring straight at Enjolras, who was in the middle of peeling his sodden shirt off.

Enjolras turned around, as if sensing eyes burning into his bare back, and Grantaire visibly swallowed as he caught sight of Enjolras’ abs, immediately looking away. Beside Bossuet, Eponine rolled her eyes.

“I. Er. Hi, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his voice almost stilted.

“Hi.” Grantaire squeaked back. “I mean, uh, hey everyone, we brought pizza.” He said, eyes darting around everywhere but Enjolras.

“That’s. Thank you, Grantaire.” And that. That was almost the strangest thing that had happened. Because Enjolras was generally a stickler for healthy eating, especially before a competition. He had been known to give long speeches about the problem of a poor diet. He had been known to have shouting matches with Grantaire that lasted over half an hour that had started because of the subject.

“I. You’re welcome?” replied Grantaire, confusion evident in his voice. He was still not looking at Enjolras. Both of them were blushing.

Enjolras suddenly looked down, his blush impossibly deepening as he seemed to realise he was standing half naked in the middle of the room with everyone else looking on.

Feuilly pulled of his jumper and held it out to Enjolras, who grabbed it and pulled it on. He sat down, squishing himself next to Combeferre as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Grantaire sat down as well, taking the place Bossuet had been sitting at Joly and Musichetta’s feet. Joly reached down and patted his hair. Everyone continued to not say anything.

It was Eponine who finally _did_ something, walking straight into the middle of the room, depositing her pizza boxes and grabbing two slices for herself. “Alright guys, you better eat this while it’s still warm or I’ll be pissed I ran through the rain for nothing.”

The room stirred into action, people grabbing slices and starting good-natured fights over the merits of pineapple as a pizza topping. Bossuet put down Grantaire’s boxes which he was still holding, but returned to standing in the doorway to eat his, watching as his friends talked, and as Grantaire and Enjolras stole glances at each-other when they thought the other one wasn’t looking, wrenching their gazes away each time they made eye contact.

They had always obviously been pining for each other; neither of them were particularly subtle. But obviously something had happened recently, and now they were even more of a mess. It was entertaining, for now at least. But Bossuet cared about his friends, and if this kept going for much longer, it was only going to end in disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee it's been like 3 1/2 months I'm sorry. I found this chapter a bit harder to write as it's mostly filler, buut it's here now and I DO have a kind of plan. The next chapter won't be up until late September at the earliest though, because I'm going away for a bit.  
> Hope you enjoyed it :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm always a slut for validation, drop me a kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed it <3


End file.
